at higher up,
shone, on a cushion, a small marquis' coronet. Six gilt candelabra with
many tall candles shone peacefully down upon the lad's corpse and left
the great hall still deeper in shadow: only, outside, the moon rose in
the distant blue, nocturnal sky; here and there it tinged with a white
glamour the trophies and suits of armour that hung or stood like iron
spectres in niches and against the walls. At the foot of the catafalque,
on a table like an altar, with a white velvet cloth, a great gilt
crucifix spread out its two arms, between two candelabra, in
commiseration.

With drawn swords, motionless as the armour on the walls, stood four
blue-mantled knights of St. Ladislas, two at either side of the
catafalque.

A soft scent of flowers was wafted through the hall. All round the
catafalque wreaths of every kind of white blossom were stacked in great
heaps; the fragrance of violets outscented all the others.

They sat down: the emperor, the empress and their four children. Slowly
the archbishop entered with his priests and choir-boys. Then the
imperial party knelt on cushions placed before their seats. The prelate
read the prayers for the dead; and the chanted _Kyrie Eleison_ and
_Agnus Dei_ besought mercy for Berengar's little soul amongst the souls
in purgatory, quivered softly through the vast hall, were wafted with
the scent of the flowers over the motionless, sleeping face of the
imperial child....

The rite came to an end; the prelate sprinkled the holy water, went
sprinkling around the catafalque. The princes left the hall, but Othomar
stayed on:

"I want to lay my wreath," he whispered to the empress.

The priests also departed, slowly; the crown-prince expressed to the
four knights, who were waiting to be relieved by others, his wish to be
left alone for a moment. They too withdrew. Then he saw Thesbia appear
at the door, with a large white wreath in his hand. He went to the
aide-de-camp and took the wreath from him.

Othomar remained alone. The hall stretched long and broad, with darkness
at either end. The moon had risen higher, seemed whiter, cast a ghostly
glamour over the suits of armour. In the centre, as though in sanctity,
between the pious light of the tall candles, rose the catafalque, lay
the prince.

The crown-prince mounted two steps of the catafalque and placed his
wreath. Then he looked at Berengar's face: no fever distorted it now; it
lay peaceful-pale, as though sleeping. All